Ye gods, but “Big Momma’s House” is an abomination. A movie this bad has not offended viewers since Jerry Lewis’ “Hardly Working.” It is a surprise that audiences don’t head for the exits within the first 20 minutes.

“Big Momma’s House” is a poorly conceived situation comedy about a couple of FBI agents sent to stake out an old woman’s house because she is the grandmother of a suspect. Let the wackiness commence!

Martin Lawrence (“Blue Streak,” “House Party”) plays Malcolm Turner, an FBI agent who is a master of disguise. We know this because it is established in the film’s opening action/exposition sequence when Turner, disguised as a small, elderly Asian man, takes part in the bust of an illegal dogfight, which, according to this film is apparently an FBI matter.

We are then whisked off to the stakeout of Big Momma’s House in a blitzkrieg of meaningless plot points amounting mostly to the agents being assigned to watch this house just on the off chance that Sherry, played by Nia Long, will stop by. Luckily for the plot, she does.

But there is a problem. Big Momma gets a call from a sick friend and has to go out of town just as Sherry calls to come over. Thankfully, Turner is a disguise artist and plays the role of Big Momma so well that not even her closest friends can tell the difference. This is ludicrous, of course, because the disguise isn’t that good.

During the course of the film, Turner tries to get Sherry to tell all she knows about a bank robbery that she is suspected of aiding in. Turner is the only FBI agent who notices that she appeared to be frightened on security tape, so he suspects she was just an unwitting dupe. Issues of trust are discussed on occasion until the bad guy shows up near the end.

That is enough talk of plot, because this load didn’t really have one anyway. “Big Momma’s House” was just a situation comedy for the big screen. Every scene was just another excuse for Martin Lawrence to pretend to be a morbidly obese black woman who suddenly has game and knows enough karate to beat her self-defense teacher senseless while fending off the affections of a horny old man.

Martin Lawrence is not the least funny comedian in existence, but he sure does make some low-brow comedy.

There is nothing essentially wrong with low-brow comedy, either.

It can be effective when done right, so this review will judge “Big Momma’s House” entirely within the context of low-brow humor. It will not be held up to the standards of Shakespeare, Sam Shepard, Woody Allen or Mel Brooks.

But judging “Big Momma’s House” well within the confines of low-brow humor, it still falls apart faster than the warm apple pie in “American Pie.”

Upon first seeing Big Momma, she is part of a welcoming committee bringing pie and cornbread to the house across the street where the agents appear to have moved in. Turner is in her house planting bugs, but Big Momma has to move her bowels so bad it isn’t funny, and I mean that — it isn’t funny.

Oh, it is meant to be funny watching this big, fat black woman hold her butt and talk about moving her bowels all over some geeky white boy, who for some reason, just won’t let her back into her house, but the joke is so stale and overused that to see it played out on the big screen for the umpteenth time this year does nothing for even those people who like bathroom humor.

The director even tries to take it up a notch by showing Big Momma on the toilet with all the accompanying fart sounds and blow-by-blow commentary about prunes while Turner hides in the shower pretending to be near death from the stench.

Watching Big Momma disrobe so that we could all laugh at her fat butt was more disturbing than anything else. The line was crossed between comedy into a bizarre display of corpulent flesh that just fell flat as Turner told his partner “that was a whole lotta ass.”

Well, yes it was, what a poignant commentary on largesse.

Lawrence could not have possibly looked at this script and been intrigued, so hopefully he paid a king’s ransom to befoul the summertime blockbuster market with this detritus.

The funniest scenes in “Big Momma” were used up in the previews so there is nothing left that you didn’t get at least a glimpse of in the commercials.

This film stinks worse than roadkill skunk, but because it was the only new wide release last weekend it still managed to pull in second right behind “Gladiator.” For shame, for shame, America.

Reviewers have to see movies this bad, but what is your excuse? Stay home and rent.

— Greg Jerrett

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Greg Jerrett is a graduate student in English from Council Bluffs.